A Stranger in Wynnedower (4 page)

His great sacrifice of
allowing her to stay the night annoyed her. Rachel skipped the customary thank
you.

“You’ve been trying to
throw me off the premises since we met this afternoon. Now, you’re inviting me
to stay the night? Why the change of heart? Aren’t you afraid I’m going to run
off with the copper pipes?”

He frowned. “If you
knew how hard it was to keep a hulk like this from getting ransacked, you
wouldn’t be so flip about it. Let’s just say it’s inconvenient for you to stay,
but more inconvenient for me to drive you into town.”

“Earlier you said you
weren’t the owner. That’s not true, is it?”

“Is that what I said?
Is it any of your business? No, it isn’t, but let me tell you about a house
like this.” His face flushed to a deep red as his voice grew louder. “You don’t
own it. It owns you. It’s a money pit. It’s an anchor mired way down deep where
you can’t pull it out.”

Choices. Did she have
any? Yes. Did she really believe this man had stood outside the door while she
tried to hook her jacket? No.

“Thank you. Before you
withdraw your offer, yes, I appreciate the help.” She clasped her hands
together. “I watch the news, so I do know people vandalize old or empty houses.
Sorry to have made light of it, but I didn’t think of looting and theft in
connection to me.”

Instead of appreciating
her conciliatory response, it seemed to frustrate him more. He snatched a
large, old-fashioned ring of keys from a board on the wall near his door. They
jangled as he stalked past her.

Fatigue hit like a
solid mass that touched the top of her head in a heavy caress. It gathered
weight and force as it rolled over her shoulders and down her body.

Missing brother.
Juiceless cell phone. Dead car. Ruined clothes. This rude man’s offer was the
best thing to happen to her today, which kind of summed it all up in a really
depressing way.

Her stomach gave a
resounding grumble. He heard.

She shrugged. “I
haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“You’d like a meal,
too.” He didn’t say it as a question.

“I need to get my
suitcase from the car.”

His eyebrows drew
together. He touched his jaw as if it hurt. Rachel felt a perverse satisfaction
lightly mixed with shame at her own ingratitude.

Jack led her back down
the hall to the doorway where she’d smelled food. He reached in and slapped the
light switch. The kitchen was painted a putrid shade of yellow, overlaid with
years of grease. The stainless steel refrigerator and oven were modern and
shiny, making the old, worn-out furnishings look all the sadder. He leaned into
the fridge and emerged with a casserole.

“I hope you’re not
picky.” He turned on the oven and slid the dish inside. “Wait here. I’ll get
your suitcase.” He held out his hand for her keys.

When he left, Rachel
collapsed onto a dinette chair at the chipped yellow Formica table, but as the
minutes passed and the aroma of the baking casserole grew, she recovered. With
one finger, she traced a crack in the Formica while eyeing the contrast of the
dingy walls with the shiny Dresden china in the Welsh cupboard.

Porcelain. Blue and
white. Blue Onion pattern. That was it. She’d seen a picture. Heaven knew
where. Her imagination and iron-clad memory were assets and a curse, but,
without doubt, her greatest weakness was curiosity, and the conflicting images
around her stirred up intriguing questions.

The Welsh cupboard
looked like it was attached to the wall. She shook it, but gently. Those pretty
dishes rattled, but the cupboard didn’t budge.

Rachel went to the
kitchen sink. The pipes moaned as she ran water over the dishcloth and squirted
dish detergent into the cloth. She sudsed it up and scrubbed, but the counter
and table weren’t dirty, merely worn and stained.

The casserole was
browning nicely. Chicken, if her nose was correct. Half the dish was empty, and
the scraped remains were baking onto the glass. It was going to be a bear to
clean. She chose plates and utensils and set the table.

Her host returned and
stopped short when he saw two place settings.

He grabbed an oven mitt
and removed the dish from the oven, setting it directly on the old Formica
table.

“I already ate.” He
tossed the mitt on the counter. “I left sheets and towels out for you. I hope
you can make your own bed. Go ahead and eat. I’ll be back.”

He didn’t wait for an
answer. That was good because she didn’t have a socially acceptable one handy.

She should’ve known
he’d already eaten. By the hour, for one thing, and also due to the aroma she’d
smelled earlier. Showed how exhausted she was. Steam rose as she spooned
chicken pasta casserole onto her plate. He was doing her a favor. He wasn’t
obligated to be gracious about it.

What was there about
her own behavior that would encourage courtesy? Nothing.

Rachel’s lower lip
trembled. She wouldn’t cry no matter how tired she was. She blew on a hunk of
chicken. After a few bites, there was no more trembling because she was busy
eating.

What to call him? Jack?

Jeremy had said he
worked for the Wynnes. Surely, this guy was Jack Wynne. Of Wynnedower. He was
one heck of a cook. She could forgive him a lot for this. Perhaps she could
dredge up some niceness for him.

She chewed,
considering. The room he gave her would be similar to Jeremy’s. A shiver seized
her at the memory of the imprisonment, but it passed quickly. She was
determined and resilient. No matter how saggy the mattress or unswept the
floor, she’d make sure Jack Wynne knew how much she appreciated his efforts
whether he liked it or not.

“Ready?”

Rachel swallowed the
last bite. “Let me tidy this up.”

He grabbed the
casserole dish and put it in the sink.

“What about the
leftovers?”

“This way,” he said.

She added her plate and
utensils to the items already in the sink. Jack led her back down the dim hall
and around that dark corner. They passed within sight of the foyer and front
door, but then ascended the stairs, the same stairs she’d climbed earlier.

He passed Jeremy’s door
and unlocked the next one, swung it open and placed the key in her palm. It was
a skeleton key. She’d never actually been where they were still in use. She
closed her hand around it like a lucky charm or talisman, capturing the feel of
it.

“This is the sitting
room. Go through the next door—this key fits that lock, too—and that’s the
bedroom. The bathroom is the door on the left.”

She started forward,
but he stopped her.

He continued, “This is
important. Lock the door and keep it locked. If you hear noises during the
night, ignore them. Intruders do break in. That’s why the doors are kept
locked. It slows them down and reduces the opportunity for damage. Here’s the
number for the house phone.” He handed her a slip of paper. “You have your cell
phone?”

“Yes. It needs
charging.”

“Then charge it. Call
me if anything alarms you. Stay in your room and keep it locked until morning.”

He was gone before she
could begin to register his sinister words. He hadn’t even said goodnight.

His warning about intruders?
Rachel wasn’t fooled. He wanted her to stay out of his way.

The sitting room was
shoebox-shaped and windowless. A lamp burned in the corner next to a sprung
chaise lounge, but as with every bulb in this house, it was weak and the room
was full of shadows. The door at the far end, to the bedroom, was open, and a
lamp also lit that room. Rachel locked the sitting room door before moving on.

Her suitcase waited on
a red satiny bench at the foot of an inviting bed.

Doors and doors. This
was a house of doors. The bathroom door was to the left of the bed, but there
were two other doors on the far side. One opened into an empty closet. The
other was locked. Rachel tried the key Jack had given her. It didn’t work.

The bathroom was more
than acceptable. Old-fashioned, but not neglected. She inspected the
claw-footed tub and was delighted to find it clean. She opened one of the
faucets. The water ran clear. No rust.

Rachel ran her hands
along the tub’s smooth porcelain curves and murmured in appreciation, “We have
a date tonight.”

There was a connecting
door in the bathroom. To Jeremy’s room, surely. The door was locked, but the
location seemed right. The rooms were as anonymous as a hotel room.

The bathroom window
pushed up easily. A nice breeze swirled through the stuffy air. Rachel opened
the bedroom window, too. Delicious, refreshing night air. These rooms were
better maintained than the one in which she’d been trapped. Even better than
her host’s from what she’d seen. She gave the mattress the sit-and-bounce test.
Nice. Better quality and better maintenance in here, without doubt.

With the water filling
the tub, Rachel stripped the ruined shell over her head. Suddenly, she felt
exposed. She was in a stranger’s house. Wasn’t it a little late to worry about
ulterior motives?

Rachel considered it
and admitted she felt no distrust, but there was no harm in caution.

She stacked a chair and
an end table in front of the bedroom door as a crude alarm, then plugged her
phone and charger into the bathroom outlet within easy reach.

A hot, relaxing bath
could do amazing things for a gal at the end of a dreadful day. Rachel stayed
there, soaking her worn body and trimming her ragged fingernails, until the
water grew cold. Finally, she dried off and pulled out a pink t-shirt and
striped, lightweight cotton pajama pants. Her hair, coal black and straight,
was cut in a bob that brushed her jawline. She had only to run a comb through
it and let it dry.

Rachel did a quick job
of making the bed, then curled up in the over-stuffed chair near the window.
She enjoyed the fresh breeze while she dialed Daisy.

Daisy answered on the
second ring. “Rachel? How was your drive? You made it okay?”

“It’s been crazy here,
but that’s a long story. Too long for tonight. The end result is I’m stranded.”

“Do you need help?”

In her head, Rachel saw
Daisy already reaching for her keys. “No, I’m fine. My car wouldn’t start. It
might be the battery. Like I know anything about cars, right? All I know is it
doesn’t work.”

She propped her feet up
on the windowsill and rested her head back against the tapestry fabric of the
chair.

“Could be the battery.
Possibly the alternator. Where are you? I hope you’re not standing on a
roadside?”

“I’m at The Mansion.”

Daisy breathed,
“Wynnedower? What’s it like? You found Jeremy?”

“No, not yet. He was
here, but has gone somewhere.

“You don’t sound
worried. Might be he’s with that girl he told you about.”

“Jeremy wouldn’t take
off like that. He has too much going on in his life, too many plans. I’ll talk
to his employer tomorrow morning and if there’s no good explanation I’ll speak
to the police.”

“The police? So you
are
worried.”

“I am, of course, but
not as much. I’ve seen where he was living and met the owner. The man is rude,
but I don’t think he did anything to Jeremy.”

“Isn’t it nice that bad
people wear signs and we don’t have to guess?”

“Ha-ha.” Rachel shifted
in her chair. “What I mean is, most of Jeremy’s stuff is gone. As if he left.
But if someone was trying to make it look like he left when he didn’t, they’d
clear out everything, right? Plus, the owner is genuinely angry at Jeremy for
taking off without notice…not that I believe Jeremy did, but the owner
certainly does.”

“So you met the owners?
What are they like?”

“He. A guy named Jack
Wynne. Honestly, I can’t tell you what he’s like. He’s different, looks sort of
eccentric. Bad-tempered. On the other hand, he’s set me up here tonight very
comfortably.”

“Oh?”

That ‘oh’ was full of
insinuation. “It’s not like that, Daisy. In fact, all he wants is for me to stay
out of his way. He told me to lock my door and not come out until morning.”

“What is he? A werewolf
or a vampire?” She growled in the background.

Rachel laughed. “If you
saw him, you might lean toward werewolf. He has lots of hair. Long, dark hair
that he keeps pulled into a ponytail.”

“Lots of hair? Is he
hairy like
Beauty and the Beast
hairy?”

“
Beauty and the
Beast?
Oh, please. No, not beastly at all. He has good bone structure, nice
cheek bones and a strong jaw and dark eyes that seem to swallow you up.”

“You and bone
structure. Please. So, he’s good looking. How good looking?”

She hesitated. “In an
aggressive sort of way. In fact, he seems familiar somehow. Not specifically
familiar, but generically familiar. Do you know what I mean?”